Time Moves Ever On
by Antigone.Rose
Summary: In which something begins and a piece is missing from the field. An Amber!Verse journey through the pilot, basically.


_A/N: A journey through (basically) the pilot in the Amber!Universe. This stupid website ate my formatting, so...keep that in mind. More author's note at the bottom._

_Disclaimer: I am a (very) poor college student. The owners of Fringe are not poor college students. It should be pretty easy to deduce the rest. _

* * *

><p>We only live ONCE.<p>

(Or do we?)

The hand of the clock moves of its own volition. It does not slow, no matter how much the world wishes that it would.

Time was the enemy.

Time brought illness.

Time brought pain.

Time brought death.

_Tick tick tick…_

Time brought crazy.

_Tick tick tick tick…_

Time had killed Walter's son. Twice.

Walter Bishop had been in Saint Claire's Mental Institution for seventeen years. Nothing changed. Every day was the same as the day before and the day after. He was a genius, trapped within both the walls of Saint Claire's and the crumbling restraints of his own fractured mind. Things that were once simple were now incredibly complex.

Decisions he had made, things he had said, the man that he had _been_, was slipping away like water in his cupped hands. The harder he tried to hold on, the faster it all fell apart. Elizabeth…William Bell…Peter…they hung around the edges of his mind like wraiths, never entirely in focus.

He couldn't remember how his wife's voice had sounded…his own son's laugh was a distant memory. He had never heard it that much in the first place. He hadn't been around enough.

He'd failed as a husband…he'd failed as a father…he'd failed as a scientist…and he'd failed as a man.

_Tick tick tick tick…_

Time took away the one thing Olivia never knew that she needed.

Olivia Dunham had never been as happy as she was with John Scott. Her life had not been an easy one. She had killed her stepfather when she was just nine years old. Her mother had died soon after. Once she was old enough, she'd joined the military and then the and blood was a recurring theme. If she had been someone who held any stock in psychology, that fact might seem alarming. As it was, she ignored it. Olivia Dunham was not one to make matters into more than they were.

Once she'd begun things with John, her world had begun to change, to shift. Slowly, the one-person cocoon that she'd hollowed out for herself seemed to have enough room for two. A night spent alone suddenly didn't seem as appealing as one spent together.

He made her feel like she was flying and falling at the same time. It was wonderful…and terrible. She knew all too well that losing the ones you loved was easy.

_Tick tick tick tick…_

"Agent Dunham." She and John Scott were lying together, feeling lazy and happy together, when her phone rang. Some disaster had occurred and it was necessary of them to be there. They left separately, like they always had, and he told her he loved her, which was new.

She didn't say it back, mostly because she _did_ love him. And in her experience, love was terrifying.

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick…_

Phillip Broyles didn't like Olivia Dunham. She was a rat, nosy and prodding into matters that would be better off left alone. She was too young, too determined and too hard.

Nevertheless, he would admit that she was good at her job, one of the best he had seen in years. So, as he stood on the tarmac near a plane that was filled with the dead, he was perversely glad to see her. If everything was going to hell, she was an agent that he would want along for the ride.

_Tick tick tick tick…_

In a place beyond the land of nowhere and past the realm of possibility…a shift occurred.

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick…_

Something was beginning…

This universe was becoming something _new_.

The stage was set, the players ready, the script carefully written and then rewritten many times over.

But…a piece was missing.

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick…_

"His name is Walter Bishop." Olivia felt her insides tearing themselves up. Nothing made sense anymore. It was as if unshakeable rules had suddenly been rewritten…up was down and down was somewhere else partner, her love, was dying. She was fighting with everything she had not to break down, to keep on going. He would do the same for her…she knew it.

They refused her request. Walter Bishop wasn't allowed out of the mental institution out without a relative's permission and he didn't have any. His wife and son were both long dead. She didn't care.

She went to a man that she had once busted for selling fake IDs and got herself set up as Walter Bishop's daughter. She headed to Saint Claire's with nothing but getting John back on her mind.

_Tick tick tick tick tick…_

When he saw her walking towards him, he cowered in fear. Maybe it was an avenging angel, come to drag him to hell for all the evil he had done. Her face was familiar, with the hardened green eyes and unshakably stern expression. He had seen her before, but where…where…

"Are you Walter Bishop?" She asked him and her voice was direct, but kind. There was an expression in her eyes that he could not place. It was something that was almost like…_hope_. He had not seen a look like that in so many years. He nodded at her without speaking and she offered him her hand. "Come on." She told him. "We have some things to talk about."

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick…._

"What the hell were you thinking, Dunham?" Broyles admonished the green-eyed agent. She glared back, all defiance and righteous anger. He fought a sudden uncharacteristic urge to squirm underneath her heated gaze. It was like he was an ant underneath a magnifying glass.

"He'll die." Her voice was condescending and raw. "If we don't do anything, then he'll die. Do you want that, Agent Broyles?"

"That is beside the point, Dunham." He forced himself to keep eye contact with her, as much as he wanted to look away. "You let a potentially dangerous man out of a mental hospital against a _direct order_." She had the sense to look at least a little ashamed at this. "I could have you arrested for this."

"But you won't." She told him.

"And why won't I?" He fired back immediately.

"Because you know as well as I do that I did the right thing." For the first time, he saw a glimpse of the woman behind the agent, desperately pleading with him to let her save a man that she cared about. "If we want to figure out what's happening, we need Walter Bishop."

He stared at her, his mind working hard, for a few moments. Then, he sighed. "Go." He told her. "Before I change my mind."

For the first time, she smiled at him. "Thank you sir." She turned to go, but he stopped her.

"Dunham?" He asked in a way that didn't require an answer. "Come see me after you have this case wrapped up. There are some things you should know."

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick…_

"Are you sure that you're okay here, Walter?" Olivia asked again. The man sitting in the middle of the lab nodded.

"I have everything I need, Agent Dunham." He told her, his eyes wandering around the room. "More than everything, in fact!"

"If you're sure…" She turned to go, fighting off a fresh wave of tears. It hadn't been enough. After everything that they had done, it wasn't enough to save John Scott. He was lying on a slab in a morgue somewhere because she hadn't done enough to save him.

It wasn't fair. She had loved him…and he never even knew.

_Tick tick tick tick tick…_

"They're calling it the Pattern." Broyles stared at her, hard. She stared back, the pain in her chest making it hard to breathe.

"Why are you telling me this?" She asked, her eyes dead and her voice hollow. She knew, somewhere in her shattered mind, that this was important. A voice urged her "_Listen_, Olivia." But, that was inconsequential compared to screams of pain from losing John.

"Since May I've been heading up a Homeland task force called Fringe Division." He continued on, unaware of, or perhaps ignoring, her pain. " We've been investigating these anomalies." She didn't say anything, just stared. "I want you to work for me." He went on. "As my lead Investigator…"

"I already have a job." She pointed out, though there wasn't much heart behind it. Without John, her job would consist mainly of pitying looks from her coworkers and her superiors putting her on endless desk duty for fear of her going insane and shooting someone. Anyone who had ever lost a partner knew how hard it was and John…he was far more than just her partner.

"This is a better job." Broyles told her, his gaze very intent now. He seemed to see though her "I'm fine" facade to the heartbroken woman inside. "Another two cases have come up since Hamburg. Anomalies." He waved two thick folders under her nose like a someone offering a dog a piece of meat.

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick…._

"You have two options, Walter." She smiled at the broken old man. They were quite the pair, she and him. Both broken in their own special way. "You can stay here, with me, and help investigate scientific anomalies or you can go back to Saint Claire's."

"And those are my choices?" He looked up from the strawberry milkshake he was concocting.

"Yes, Walter." She nodded. "Those are your choices."

"Well, I'll stay here then." Her told her, going back to his milkshake. "But I'm going to need some things."

"Oh yeah?" She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "What things?"

"A cow." He told her. "As Agent Farnsworth has informed me that testing on students would be…objectionable."

"Astrid's right." Olivia reaffirmed, shooting a quick smile at the junior Agent sitting in the corner of the lab, slurping her own milkshake. "I'll see if we can get you a cow."

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick…_

From a distance, September watched. He tilted his head and took out his notebook to scrawl a few things. They were all come together, as they were supposed to. The blonde woman with the Power inside of her mind, the broken old madman with the fractured genius, the young agent who would forever be an assistant to those greater than her and…no one else.

Time had been rewritten.

_Tick tick tick tick tick…_

He made a few more notes.

_Tick tick tick…_

Then he moved on and left Time to her musings.

_Tick…_

We only live once.

(Or do we?)

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick…_

And Peter Bishop was gone…wiped from the face of time. It was as if he had never been there at all.

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick…_

In a place beyond the land of nowhere and past the realm of possibility…a shift had occurred. Nothing would ever be the same.

_Tick tick tick tick…_

_Tick tick tick…_

_Tick…_

* * *

><p><em>AN: so...there's that. I stole a line in there from The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, which is pretty much the best short story every written. Anyway. Moving on. I dunno.._.I_ like it. Granted, it's one of the most self-indulgent things I've ever written. I love writing in weird, lazy, spread-out style. I also think that it's massively confusing. I have, like, twelve other stories just like this one on my hard-drive. Seriously. This one was the _least confusing_. Also, this one didn't have Lincoln. And that made me sad. But, yeah. Review and lemme know if you appreciate my spaced-out weirdness or if it just made you mad. Whatevs. _


End file.
